From Granpa Cratchet’s Facebook: Which vehicle has the most air? Whichever one Granpa is in.
On the puppeteer’s right hand, Granpa Cratchet sits in the “cockpit.” The puppeteer’s costumed left hand steers. He looks through burlap behind the puppet (no, he can’t see great). Toes operate the gas, brake, water squirters and various sound effects. Granpa’s biggest fan, inside the vehicle, is only a few inches across. There’s one for the puppeteer’s upper and lower body. See bigger photos of the puppetmobile at oldcoot.com.
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WANT TO COMMENT OR CONTRIBUTE? Use http://puppettrip.tumblr.com/submit or email puppettrip@tumblr.com. This is the epic tale of a man, his puppet, and other random oddballs roaming the countryside entertaining people or just being odd in situ.
Background for new readers:
One person curates and writes for this blog. Contributors include other entertainers who tour nationwide, mainly at summertime fairs and festivals. We won't identify ourselves because, when the poop hits the pavement, and it always does sometime, we want to be able to reveal all the piquant details. Aside from "what it’s like to live on the road, touring a small show," there's some stuff about puppets since the blog's founder is a puppet guru.
We promise: 1) No daily posts. 2) This blog likely will end in a couple of months, maybe sooner, when the busy season ends. Feel free to comment and subscribe -- despite Tumblr's proddings, you don't have to set up a blog to subscribe.
DISCLAIMER & BLAH BLAH from the founder:
The verbiage in this blog does not reflect policies of the company I tour for and does not have its approval. This blog is only the very personal musings of one person, plus contributions from other “grounds act” people. The curator or I edit their often-oral contributions (I’m a writer when I’m not performing; they only ride motorcycles in cages, or whatever). So their tales often end up sounding like me. Oh, the glorious unrivaled power …
Bottom-line about the company I work with: The owner works really hard to produce a good show and treat everyone fairly, especially clients.
Note to the grammar-addicted, all fans of fine formatting, and the humor-impaired: This epic contains informal writing and stylistically strained structure. (If you want to pay us, we'll fix everything.) It also contains alleged jokes, irony, folderol, silliness and sarcasm. If you’re not sure it’s a joke, just tell yourself it is — and people are going to think you’re the silly one if you get upset about it.
WHO, WHAT, WHEN, WHERE, ETC.:
I jump in and out of my home base performing shows (and editing this blog when the curator dozes off). Posts usually don't appear until after an event occurred.
As founder of this blog, I'm taking blog space to provide background on my company and me. The company runs one-man puppet shows. Each year there's a new show with a positive theme. Each stage show features a Muppet-style puppet with the puppeteer's costumed arm as one arm. A couple of other puppets may have rod arms. And there’s always a second, separate show at almost every engagement. It's mobile unit, a miniature vehicle about 4x8 feet with me inside. The main puppet in the stage show “drives,” smarting off and squirting water on people.
Everyone wants to know about the mobile unit: It's not as fancy as Disney's Muppet Mobile Lab unit (http://tinyurl.com/l5xedo – fyi, my schtick is better). It's not a golf cart covered in cardboard -- much fancier than that, but about the same size. (See below for more info.)
A summer season for me lasts 2 - 3 months. This is my fifth year touring with the co. during the height of fair season, which roughly runs July – mid Oct. Typically, I drive 7,500 - 10,000 miles in 10 - 13 weeks with a long-bed F-450 diesel truck (it's 6 feet longer than a crew-cab, long-bed pickup). I pull a 14 - 31 foot trailer. There’s always some configuration of a fold-out stage. Usually the entire trailer morphs into the stage. For traveling, the mobile unit goes inside the trailer. (See below for more info on the stage/trailer.)
The company plays fairs and festivals in many states, Florida to Maine to New Mexico, but more county fairs occur in the more populous states with smaller counties, e.g., look how many counties Ohio has, especially compared New Mexico.
I usually do six shows daily, three in the mobile and three on the stage. Each lasts 30 - 45 minutes, including time talking to individual children.
My workdays last from 4 – 16 hours. But it’s overall a great job with many interesting times. Definitely a break from my freelance writing and editing career, though I constantly do verbal gymnastics both places. I could do any type of standard writing or the entertainment biz again with no problem.
I meet psycho children, including the ones whose life goal apparently is to beat up a puppet. I mostly meet friendly kids, plus a few scared ones, plus many friendly, helpful adults, who usually get a hoot out of some of the humor, especially the puppet's interactive blather in the mobile unit. See below for more about kids.
About me: I have eaten the fried Twinkie at a fair. I also have eaten the white dirt. Convenience stores in Columbus, GA sell the clay as a snack. It does not taste like chicken. I also have eaten 12 million peanut butter crackers. A couple of years ago, I lost 15 - 20 pounds in 13 weeks, thanks to the eating-is-inconvenient diet and increased activity (not aerobic level, just moving around more daily). I don't lose more weight because I suck down a lot of PB&J sandwiches and Lifesavers. I could spend a ton of my own money eating mediocre restaurant food; so why bother? Instead, I often heat up a can of whatever in my toaster oven. Conversely, I ate lobster 10 of my 12 non-breakfast meals in Maine.
WHY DO IT:
It’s simple. Just like real life, the mobile is one-person improv comedy (although I have some standard jokes). But with the mobile, I have a weekly audience of hundreds, and I get paid for it. The stage show in its present, evolving form will not play Broadway. In its worst spot or two, it's decent material and, at its best, very funny. And there’s always room for changes in the script. Every one-man show has its own somewhat different version.
Then there’s the usual stuff like the freedom of almost-self-employment and the travel, which can be great or mundane, depending on the locale.
And I could punch holes in a sidewalk with my right thumb, the main digit making the main character talk.
THE MOBILE UNIT:
It’s a hoot to operate, but it has hazards. Lots of jokes about my bad driving (“I’m such a bad driver the police give me a season ticket”), but they’re somewhat true because I look through a burlap screen, have no peripheral vision and can see backwards only through bad convex mirrors. Luckily, several hundred pounds of mobile running over your foot is only an attention-getter, not a crippler. “Toe-shortening service coming through!… Look out! I’m executing a turn. Usually I execute people when I turn…”) I never attain enough speed to do any serious damage ("They won’t let me enter the fair’s demolition derby; so I have my own out in the parking lot. Oops, where are you people parked?")
Almost everyone likes/survives being squirted with water from one of the mobile’s three shooters, once people figure out it’s just water, and it’s just a joke/no big deal. “Oh, okay. The puppet is apologizing” (“I’m so sorry, mam. You were an accidental victim of a drive-by squirting… Don’t worry. I’ve been using that water for 50 years, that very same water, and it made me the man I am today. Handsome!… It’s all that’s kid’s fault. He wasn’t tall enough to take the hit.…Think of it as beauty lotion, not that you need it…”) Very small children, a few young teen girls and random adults are not amused. One teen hottie accosts me after I climb out of the mobile: “You squirted my bottom!” (Yes, I probably did, accidentally. She was in a group.) Since I’m not sure she’s joking, I say, deadpan, “I hope it doesn’t shrink.” Oops, she’s serious. So I apologize/explain until she gets bored and walks off.
I discovered that driving the mobile is good training for driving a tank, at least in terms of the cockpit space. However, the tank would be considerably more uncomfortable if someone were trying to kill me (instead of just wishing they could after I squirt them). The Army had a Bradley Fighting Vehicle on display at one fair (http://www.army-technology.com/projects/bradley/images/brad13s.jpg). I felt very at home in the cockpit, except it has more room, a chain gun, and an Integrated Sight Unit that includes a day/thermal sight with big-time magnification. My mobile has three water squirters, and I look through a piece of burlap. Perhaps it needs a little modification. The chain gun would get those psycho kids’ attention. (In these overly nervous, litigious times, e.g., nobody ever plays “The Homecoming Queen’s Got a Gun” anymore, let me be clear, in case some bandit with a briefcase tries to rob the company after I ran over some kid’s toe: The “chain gun” line was a joke. Har har.)
Oh yes, the big hazard, the heat. Each mobile has one or two little fans to stir the air in the hot box. It’s bad when it’s 90 degrees. But the mid-80s can be too warm. Another hazard: Kids can suddenly stop the mobile several ways (no hints here). I’ve been irritatingly injured when that happens.
OTHER FREQUENT QUESTIONS:
How did I find the job? http://www.christianjobs.com/ had an ad asking for improv comedy and puppet skills (the co. has not posted there again). I had done both in our church’s children’s church. My puppet skills were mediocre, but I’m a natural smart aleck looking for an outlet. The job doesn’t involve being a “professional Christian.” The boss just likes to hire youth directors, children’s pastors, etc.
The fairs pays the co. as a “grounds act.” I get percentages of the total fee and merchandise sales. I get expenses paid except food. I don't make a lot, but it’s SHOW BUSINESS. Wheeee!
Some trucks have a sleeper, which is useful for catching a few hours sleep on very long trips – otherwise, I stay in motels.
The truck pulls a trailer, which always carries the mobile unit, and then either the trailer converts into a stage, or the stage is a freestanding unit that rolls off it. After the show, the main character opens a window in the trailer/stage to talk to kids and sell DVDs and merchandise such as a pack with a music album and computer game.
The nice kids: There are so many. For example, kids give me presents. A picture she drew of the puppet, a toy flower she’d just won at the carnival, a French fry, candy, a quarter. They also give their interest, questions, offers to help and their friendship. Some dust the mobile, fetch water for its squirters, pick up litter, or just hang out and talk. A few times, kids adopt me for the week. They were at the fair a lot anyway; so they’d see every show, follow the mobile every time, help at the trailer, etc.
The very little kids: Parents, eager for their 2-year-olds (and younger) to have the full kiddie experience, will bring the tykes up to the puppet. The kids usually either just stare, or sometimes they’re scared. So I say, “That’s okay. If I saw somebody who’s head is as big as my body, I’d be cautious, too... Am I the weirdest thing you ever saw? I don’t know your relatives; so I’m not sure. But don’t worry. A few years of therapy and you’ll be fine."
The hardest part: Is it hard not being home all the time for a couple of months? Yes. I often use the primitive but effective tool of consciously not thinking much about it, though I talk to the wife and my early-twenties son often. Another survival tip: Very little radio because, e.g., “And now, 17 consecutive songs about people humping!”
Also hard, as in “pain in the butt” if it happens often: Fixing stuff. I can fix a lot of things, but I’m an artiste, not Mr. Fix-It. Besides, I seldom have all the right tools when I’m traveling.
Stay tuned for more insights and ephemera in the blog itself.
Background for new readers:
One person curates and writes for this blog. Contributors include other entertainers who tour nationwide, mainly at summertime fairs and festivals. We won't identify ourselves because, when the poop hits the pavement, and it always does sometime, we want to be able to reveal all the piquant details. Aside from "what it’s like to live on the road, touring a small show," there's some stuff about puppets since the blog's founder is a puppet guru.
We promise: 1) No daily posts. 2) This blog likely will end in a couple of months, maybe sooner, when the busy season ends. Feel free to comment and subscribe -- despite Tumblr's proddings, you don't have to set up a blog to subscribe.
DISCLAIMER & BLAH BLAH from the founder:
The verbiage in this blog does not reflect policies of the company I tour for and does not have its approval. This blog is only the very personal musings of one person, plus contributions from other “grounds act” people. The curator or I edit their often-oral contributions (I’m a writer when I’m not performing; they only ride motorcycles in cages, or whatever). So their tales often end up sounding like me. Oh, the glorious unrivaled power …
Bottom-line about the company I work with: The owner works really hard to produce a good show and treat everyone fairly, especially clients.
Note to the grammar-addicted, all fans of fine formatting, and the humor-impaired: This epic contains informal writing and stylistically strained structure. (If you want to pay us, we'll fix everything.) It also contains alleged jokes, irony, folderol, silliness and sarcasm. If you’re not sure it’s a joke, just tell yourself it is — and people are going to think you’re the silly one if you get upset about it.
WHO, WHAT, WHEN, WHERE, ETC.:
I jump in and out of my home base performing shows (and editing this blog when the curator dozes off). Posts usually don't appear until after an event occurred.
As founder of this blog, I'm taking blog space to provide background on my company and me. The company runs one-man puppet shows. Each year there's a new show with a positive theme. Each stage show features a Muppet-style puppet with the puppeteer's costumed arm as one arm. A couple of other puppets may have rod arms. And there’s always a second, separate show at almost every engagement. It's mobile unit, a miniature vehicle about 4x8 feet with me inside. The main puppet in the stage show “drives,” smarting off and squirting water on people.
Everyone wants to know about the mobile unit: It's not as fancy as Disney's Muppet Mobile Lab unit (http://tinyurl.com/l5xedo – fyi, my schtick is better). It's not a golf cart covered in cardboard -- much fancier than that, but about the same size. (See below for more info.)
A summer season for me lasts 2 - 3 months. This is my fifth year touring with the co. during the height of fair season, which roughly runs July – mid Oct. Typically, I drive 7,500 - 10,000 miles in 10 - 13 weeks with a long-bed F-450 diesel truck (it's 6 feet longer than a crew-cab, long-bed pickup). I pull a 14 - 31 foot trailer. There’s always some configuration of a fold-out stage. Usually the entire trailer morphs into the stage. For traveling, the mobile unit goes inside the trailer. (See below for more info on the stage/trailer.)
The company plays fairs and festivals in many states, Florida to Maine to New Mexico, but more county fairs occur in the more populous states with smaller counties, e.g., look how many counties Ohio has, especially compared New Mexico.
I usually do six shows daily, three in the mobile and three on the stage. Each lasts 30 - 45 minutes, including time talking to individual children.
My workdays last from 4 – 16 hours. But it’s overall a great job with many interesting times. Definitely a break from my freelance writing and editing career, though I constantly do verbal gymnastics both places. I could do any type of standard writing or the entertainment biz again with no problem.
I meet psycho children, including the ones whose life goal apparently is to beat up a puppet. I mostly meet friendly kids, plus a few scared ones, plus many friendly, helpful adults, who usually get a hoot out of some of the humor, especially the puppet's interactive blather in the mobile unit. See below for more about kids.
About me: I have eaten the fried Twinkie at a fair. I also have eaten the white dirt. Convenience stores in Columbus, GA sell the clay as a snack. It does not taste like chicken. I also have eaten 12 million peanut butter crackers. A couple of years ago, I lost 15 - 20 pounds in 13 weeks, thanks to the eating-is-inconvenient diet and increased activity (not aerobic level, just moving around more daily). I don't lose more weight because I suck down a lot of PB&J sandwiches and Lifesavers. I could spend a ton of my own money eating mediocre restaurant food; so why bother? Instead, I often heat up a can of whatever in my toaster oven. Conversely, I ate lobster 10 of my 12 non-breakfast meals in Maine.
WHY DO IT:
It’s simple. Just like real life, the mobile is one-person improv comedy (although I have some standard jokes). But with the mobile, I have a weekly audience of hundreds, and I get paid for it. The stage show in its present, evolving form will not play Broadway. In its worst spot or two, it's decent material and, at its best, very funny. And there’s always room for changes in the script. Every one-man show has its own somewhat different version.
Then there’s the usual stuff like the freedom of almost-self-employment and the travel, which can be great or mundane, depending on the locale.
And I could punch holes in a sidewalk with my right thumb, the main digit making the main character talk.
THE MOBILE UNIT:
It’s a hoot to operate, but it has hazards. Lots of jokes about my bad driving (“I’m such a bad driver the police give me a season ticket”), but they’re somewhat true because I look through a burlap screen, have no peripheral vision and can see backwards only through bad convex mirrors. Luckily, several hundred pounds of mobile running over your foot is only an attention-getter, not a crippler. “Toe-shortening service coming through!… Look out! I’m executing a turn. Usually I execute people when I turn…”) I never attain enough speed to do any serious damage ("They won’t let me enter the fair’s demolition derby; so I have my own out in the parking lot. Oops, where are you people parked?")
Almost everyone likes/survives being squirted with water from one of the mobile’s three shooters, once people figure out it’s just water, and it’s just a joke/no big deal. “Oh, okay. The puppet is apologizing” (“I’m so sorry, mam. You were an accidental victim of a drive-by squirting… Don’t worry. I’ve been using that water for 50 years, that very same water, and it made me the man I am today. Handsome!… It’s all that’s kid’s fault. He wasn’t tall enough to take the hit.…Think of it as beauty lotion, not that you need it…”) Very small children, a few young teen girls and random adults are not amused. One teen hottie accosts me after I climb out of the mobile: “You squirted my bottom!” (Yes, I probably did, accidentally. She was in a group.) Since I’m not sure she’s joking, I say, deadpan, “I hope it doesn’t shrink.” Oops, she’s serious. So I apologize/explain until she gets bored and walks off.
I discovered that driving the mobile is good training for driving a tank, at least in terms of the cockpit space. However, the tank would be considerably more uncomfortable if someone were trying to kill me (instead of just wishing they could after I squirt them). The Army had a Bradley Fighting Vehicle on display at one fair (http://www.army-technology.com/projects/bradley/images/brad13s.jpg). I felt very at home in the cockpit, except it has more room, a chain gun, and an Integrated Sight Unit that includes a day/thermal sight with big-time magnification. My mobile has three water squirters, and I look through a piece of burlap. Perhaps it needs a little modification. The chain gun would get those psycho kids’ attention. (In these overly nervous, litigious times, e.g., nobody ever plays “The Homecoming Queen’s Got a Gun” anymore, let me be clear, in case some bandit with a briefcase tries to rob the company after I ran over some kid’s toe: The “chain gun” line was a joke. Har har.)
Oh yes, the big hazard, the heat. Each mobile has one or two little fans to stir the air in the hot box. It’s bad when it’s 90 degrees. But the mid-80s can be too warm. Another hazard: Kids can suddenly stop the mobile several ways (no hints here). I’ve been irritatingly injured when that happens.
OTHER FREQUENT QUESTIONS:
How did I find the job? http://www.christianjobs.com/ had an ad asking for improv comedy and puppet skills (the co. has not posted there again). I had done both in our church’s children’s church. My puppet skills were mediocre, but I’m a natural smart aleck looking for an outlet. The job doesn’t involve being a “professional Christian.” The boss just likes to hire youth directors, children’s pastors, etc.
The fairs pays the co. as a “grounds act.” I get percentages of the total fee and merchandise sales. I get expenses paid except food. I don't make a lot, but it’s SHOW BUSINESS. Wheeee!
Some trucks have a sleeper, which is useful for catching a few hours sleep on very long trips – otherwise, I stay in motels.
The truck pulls a trailer, which always carries the mobile unit, and then either the trailer converts into a stage, or the stage is a freestanding unit that rolls off it. After the show, the main character opens a window in the trailer/stage to talk to kids and sell DVDs and merchandise such as a pack with a music album and computer game.
The nice kids: There are so many. For example, kids give me presents. A picture she drew of the puppet, a toy flower she’d just won at the carnival, a French fry, candy, a quarter. They also give their interest, questions, offers to help and their friendship. Some dust the mobile, fetch water for its squirters, pick up litter, or just hang out and talk. A few times, kids adopt me for the week. They were at the fair a lot anyway; so they’d see every show, follow the mobile every time, help at the trailer, etc.
The very little kids: Parents, eager for their 2-year-olds (and younger) to have the full kiddie experience, will bring the tykes up to the puppet. The kids usually either just stare, or sometimes they’re scared. So I say, “That’s okay. If I saw somebody who’s head is as big as my body, I’d be cautious, too... Am I the weirdest thing you ever saw? I don’t know your relatives; so I’m not sure. But don’t worry. A few years of therapy and you’ll be fine."
The hardest part: Is it hard not being home all the time for a couple of months? Yes. I often use the primitive but effective tool of consciously not thinking much about it, though I talk to the wife and my early-twenties son often. Another survival tip: Very little radio because, e.g., “And now, 17 consecutive songs about people humping!”
Also hard, as in “pain in the butt” if it happens often: Fixing stuff. I can fix a lot of things, but I’m an artiste, not Mr. Fix-It. Besides, I seldom have all the right tools when I’m traveling.
Stay tuned for more insights and ephemera in the blog itself.
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